


Back To You

by regandevo



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mild Smut, One Shot, PWP, Post-Finale, Reunion, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 21:51:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3666549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regandevo/pseuds/regandevo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If you’ve got visions of the past let them follow you down,<br/>for they’ll come back to you someday.<br/>And I found myself attached to this railroad track,<br/>But I’ll come back to you someday”</p>
<p>or, the one where they meet again</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back To You

**Author's Note:**

> the lyrics in the summary are from the song "Ghost Town" by First Aid Kit
> 
> also, this is my first ever fanfic so any and all feedback is welcome and encouraged! thanks, guys :)

The minute that he entered Camp Jaha, he’d regretted not trying harder to make her stay. He willed himself not to look back at her, knowing he would be tempted to follow. Where would she even go? Bellamy knew that Clarke had managed to survive on her own before, but not to this extent. She had said that she needed to be alone to process everything that had happened, but what if the isolation crippled her even further?  
Bellamy kicked the dirt out of frustration before finally closing the gates behind him. Everyone around the camp seemed to be at ease, even Octavia, as she tended to a wound on Lincoln’s shoulder. When Bellamy’s eyes met Abby’s he knew that he’d have to be the one to break the news at some point. He sighed and walked over to her, guilt beginning to build in his gut. The weight of responsibility that he would soon have to face in Clarke’s absence hadn’t hit him until he bent down to her mother’s side and bowed his head, before looking her in the eyes. Nobody should have to tell someone that they’d lost their daughter, again. 

* *  
one month later

They’d finished the construction of two of the cabins meant for housing during the winter months. Bellamy had undertaken the task of leading the project as a way to distract himself from what was really on his mind. He couldn’t help thinking about Clarke, and wondering where she was. In all honesty, he wished that he’d gone after her. He had promised to bear this weight with her, but instead he felt it resonate deep within his bones. He figured that with his sister’s company, and maybe even by taking part in some of Kane’s duties, he’d be able to cope with what he—what they—had done.   
Bellamy had to constantly remind himself that this was good for Clarke, but he often found himself wondering when things would get easier for him, too. 

* * *  
two months later

One of the original 100, a girl named Tamrin who was only thirteen, injured herself while trying to skin a deer. The knife had slipped through the wet, blood soaked flesh and straight into her upper thigh. Bellamy knew he had to stop the bleeding, but really, Clarke was the one who would have been able to stitch her up.   
Blood shot from Tamrin’s leg, spurting out onto Bellamy’s clothing and seeping through the fingers he pressed onto the wound. He knew he had to get her to Abby, but he couldn’t leave her alone. Thinking back to something Clarke had done after Jasper had gotten speared, Bellamy ripped the sleeve from his shirt, tying it tightly around Tamrin’s leg. She was unconscious, but he swept her into his arms and ran from the preparation tent to the med bay where Abby sat tending to Monty, who was suffering from the flu. That was also something that had been going around as the months grew colder. Now, in November, Bellamy was surprised that they hadn’t yet seen any snow.  
“Bellamy, what happened?” Abby said, handing Monty a wet cloth to hold to his forehead before rushing over to inspect Tamrin’s wounds.  
“Her knife slipped,” Bellamy said, laying the girl down onto the reclined pilots chair that served as an examination table. “I—I tried to make a tourniquet, like Clarke showed me, but I’m not sure if I—I mean, will she—”  
“Bellamy, grab me the equipment for stitching, it’s just behind you,” Abby cut him off, the look of determination on her face one he had seen many times before, although the lines in her face seemed more pronounced than that of her offspring. Bellamy spun on his heels, grabbing the needle and string, handing them over to Abby. “Hold her down.”  
Bellamy stood frozen, looking down at Tamrin as Abby pulled away the wrapped fabric of his shirt from her thigh. She looked so pale, how could he have let this happen?  
“Bellamy.” Abby’s stern voice shook him from his trance, and he hesitantly placed one hand on Tamrin’s shoulder, and another on her other thigh as Abby began to fish the curved needle through the layers of opened skin. Somewhere behind them Monty threw up, probably from having caught a glance at the operation at hand.   
An hour later, Tamrin was in stable condition and Bellamy was trying to wash the blood off of his hands. How long until he wouldn't have to do that anymore?

* *  
three months later

The snow was knee deep, and it had lost it’s charm within the first week, as soft flakes became freezing rain, and powdered hills turned into icy slopes. They hadn’t hunted nearly enough game to keep everyone fed, and Bellamy knew that come January they would have to venture out of the camp in search of more food.  
Bellamy shared a hut with Monty, Miller, Raven, Wick, Harper and a younger boy named Huck. He had refused to share a room with Octavia and Lincoln, not even wanting to imagine what he was likely to barge in on from time to time. Instead, they had built their own smaller, private cabin not too far from Bellamy’s. He wondered briefly if they would get married, or if grounders even followed such a tradition.   
Bellamy found his mind racing back to something he hadn’t allowed himself to pause on for a while. How was she surviving the winter? These were the thoughts that had once consumed him as he lie awake at night, but that he had eventually been able to rid himself of. Was she still satisfied with her choice of abandoning him? Bellamy shook his head. He tore his wool blanket back from his body, growing warm in frustration, and swung his legs over the side of his cot. Monty was snoring lazily next to him, filling the cabin almost as densely as the darkness. Bellamy ran his fingers through his hair, allowing the cool air to wash over his body.   
As much as he tried not to let it consume him, he missed her so much. He missed her guidance, her friendship, all of the ways she challenged him, the way he made her a better person . . . how could she do this to him? how could she do this to all of them? Bellamy let his head fall into his hands. Was his forgiveness not enough? Was he not enough? The bitter taste of resentment filled his mouth, and he cursed himself for ever thinking she’d return. Better yet, for thinking he was enough to make her stay in the first place.

* *  
four months later 

He’d been right about the food supply, and come January, he found himself awake before the rest of the camp, setting out to hunt whatever he could find. Bellamy was greeted by darkness, as most mornings seemed to go during the winter. Today was especially cold, and he grabbed Wick’s extra sweater off of the ground while he slept on the cot next to it, figuring he wouldn’t mind sparing his friend of frostbite. He drew it over his head before bracing the frigid wind and nipping snow that assaulted his bare face.   
Bellamy grabbed an axe from the weapon shed, locking it behind him. He nodded to one of the other guards on duty, and they opened the gate for him. This was the second week he’d gone out on his own to try and scavenge some sort of nourishment for the camp. He liked the solitude. It gave him room to breathe, although it also gave him room to think; to dwell. Bellamy slid on his deer hide gloves, which his sister had made him through a grounder method taught to her by Lincoln.   
The forest was silent, save for the rustle of wind on the naked tree branches. The luckiest Bellamy had gotten on one of these trips was a couple of hares. They were hard to spot, because of their white fur, but they made a great stew once captured. Bellamy bent down and grabbed a fallen branch, picking it up and tossing it against the trunk of a nearby oak tree, trying to see what specimen he could rouse into his line of sight.  
He waited a beat before hearing the unmistakable rustle of movement behind him. It was slight, but he was sure of it. Bellamy turned, and immediately froze when he saw the prints in the snow of whatever had been moving. No way were they from a rabbit, or even a moose for that matter. No, he thought, inching closer in inspection. He set his foot down next to one of the tracks, comparing the two imprints beside one another. They were definitely human.  
Another rustle, this one louder, caused Bellamy to spin, just in time to see the hooded figure of a grounder fleeing him. Their frame was large, covered by various furs that had been haphazardly strung together. Almost on instinct, Bellamy began sprinting after the grounder, his axe raised in perpetual defence. The harsh wind struck his face with such force that his eyes began to tear up, freezing almost immediately on his cheeks.  
The grounder made a quick left around a tree in order to throw him off, but Bellamy was quicker, and used the trunk as leverage, grabbing onto it so that he could swing his body around. He was about a foot away, knowing that if he could just get a bit closer he would be able to take the grounder down. Not wanting to use his axe just yet, Bellamy reached behind him into his open knapsack, reaching for the loose rope he’d brought along to fashion a makeshift trap. Swinging his arm around his head, he propelled the rope forward, catching the grounder around their neck, and with one quick heave, they both fell onto a slick patch of ice.   
Bellamy’s elbow and backside were throbbing in pain, and the grounder had let out a low grunt from the impact of the ice. Not wasting any time, Bellamy flipped himself over and straddled the grounder, who found themselves face down, nose probably bleeding from being pushed into the ice.   
“Who are you?” Bellamy demanded, grabbing the figure below him by the back of the hood, holding them in place. “What were you doing so close to our camp?”  
The grounder only let out a series of grunts, wriggling beneath him. It occurred to Bellamy that perhaps this person didn't even know how to speak english. Sighing in frustration, Bellamy relieved the grounder of his weight, moving over so that he could roll them onto their back. Maybe if they saw the pent up aggression that resided behind Bellamy’s eyes, they’d understand that he meant business.   
He rolled the grounder over, now finding himself straddling their waist, and discovered a pair of blue eyes staring back at him, wide and fearful. Bellamy froze. Behind a scarred and bruised face, behind a massacre of a bloody nose, he would recognize those eyes anywhere.  
“Clarke,” he breathed out.

* * *  
“Bellamy, say something,” the voice called out to him. Bellamy shook his head, wondering how long he’d zoned out for. Those clear blue eyes came back into focus, and there she was, finally, after months of being gone.   
“I—Clarke,” He said.  
“Yes,” She replied, and her voice was like honey and warmth. Her voice was like coming home. “Yes, it’s me.”  
“What are you—I mean, where . . . um,” Bellamy could barely form a coherent sentence, and he silently cursed himself for it. Almost five months since he’d last laid eyes on this girl, his best friend, his partner and co-leader, and now he was at a loss for words. Clarke was still beneath him, and his eyes swept over the blood now drying beneath her nose and across her cheeks. “Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry.”  
Clarke furrowed her brow before reaching up to touch her nose, her fingers coming back smeared in red. “Oh,” she said.  
Bellamy lifted himself off of her, gathering snow into a packed ball and getting her to apply it across her nose.  
“I am so sorry about that,” he said. “I, uh, thought you were a grounder that was spying on our camp.” Bellamy cleared his throat in embarrassment, looking away briefly. When he turned back to face her, she had her eyes cast down in the same expression.  
“Wait,” he said. “You weren’t . . . you weren’t spying on the camp, were you?”  
Clarke didn’t reply, she just cleared her throat and pressed the snow closer to her nose, which didn’t seem to be broken, only bloody.   
“Clarke,” Bellamy said, his voice now stern.   
“I wasn’t spying on the camp,” She said. “I wasn’t really spying at all, actually. I just wanted to see how you were doing, but then you spotted me and, well, I don’t know, I guess I just panicked and took off.”  
Bellamy stared at Clarke in disbelief. Heat began to creep up his neck, as the realization sank in that she had been watching him. How often did that go on? How many times had she seen him alone in the woods, where he often went when human interaction just became too much? All this time, she claimed to need space, when really all she needed was a two-way mirror. Fuck, he thought, every night that he had spent wondering if she was okay, she had probably been a mere ten meters away from him. The heat moved into his cheeks, and Bellamy could feel the rage he’d spent so long repressing begin to expand in his chest. The fact that he’d had to endure this weight all by himself, and she’d had him under her thumb the entire time made him scoff out loud.  
“What?” Clarke asked. She pulled her hood back, revealing her blonde curls, which had darkened since the fall, and now fell much past her collarbone. Tearing his eyes away from her, Bellamy stood up and turned to retrieve his axe, which he’d dropped in the fall. “Bellamy, are you leaving?”  
“Yeah,” he said. “feel free to watch.”  
He left her sitting there, on the ice, calling his name.

* * *

Later that evening, when everyone else was at dinner, Bellamy lay alone in his cabin, trying to forget about what had happened that morning. He came back from hunting with nothing to show for the hour and a half he’d spent out there, which got him a round of mockery from the other guards on duty throughout the afternoon. Now, with his eyes shut, and his hands covering his face, Bellamy allowed everything to come crashing down on him.  
He wished he could just turn it off, all of this feeling. Fuck emotions and fuck everyone else around him. He should’ve been the one to leave, and then Clarke would be in his position right now.   
Bellamy let out a low sigh, as if all of his woes and desperation would exit his body along with his expelled air. Instead, he just felt more empty.  
Then, the temperature of his cabin changed, the door creaking open slowly.  
“Octavia, I told you to keep everyone out of my cabin for at least an hour,” Bellamy growled, pressing his palms further into his eyelids out of annoyance.  
“I promise this will take less than an hour,” said a familiar voice.  
Bellamy shot up, the blanket that he’d had wrapped around his body sliding down to reveal his bare chest. Clarke’s eyes panned over his skin, mapped with goose-flesh, and she closed the door to preserve warmth.   
“How did you get in here?” Bellamy asked.  
“Branson is on duty, and he always falls asleep during this shift,” She said. Bellamy’s eyes widened at this information. “I noticed this over, um, over the months.”  
Bellamy felt his jaw clench, and Clarke obviously noticed. She bit her bottom lip nervously before tentatively making her way over to where he was sitting. She sighed and slumped down beside him on the cot.   
“Look, Bellamy,” She started. “I said I needed space. I had to forget what I had done, but I didn’t think that meant I had to forget the people I cared about, too.”   
Bellamy sighed and finally met her eyes. “I didn’t think you’d forget about us, Clarke, but how does watching everyone from a safe distance constitute as getting space? I’ve been sitting here worrying about you for five fucking months, thinking you were dead or kidnapped or worse, wondering when you’d finally come back to me—” He stopped.   
“To you?” Clarke asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Bellamy’s heart was beating out of his chest, at the slip up he’d made, at the increasing heat in the cabin, at Clarke’s mere proximity. He tried to clear his throat, relieve some tension.   
“I mean,” He started, but the words were lost as Clarke shifted her weight closer to him, placing a hand on his knee cap. Her eyes swept over his own, searching for whatever secrets might be hiding there. Both were silent for minutes or hours or days, but Bellamy couldn't care enough to count.   
“Bellamy,” She breathed, her eyelids lowering in a sensual manner. “I think I’m ready to accept your forgiveness . . . if you’re still willing to give it to me.”  
Clarke looked up into Bellamy’s eyes, and all it took was a simple, barely perceptible nod for her to crash her mouth up onto his. His reaction was immediate, kissing her back with a hunger he wasn’t aware that he’d had. Of course he’d missed her, and if the passion with which she moved her tongue around his mouth was any indication, he’d wager that she missed him, too.   
Clarke began to shed her animal skin jacket, letting it fall to the floor, revealing a ratty, once-white t-shirt and the same pants he’d last seen her in. Still moving his mouth along with hers, Bellamy moves his hands down to the hem of her shirt, tugging at it until Clarke separates briefly so that he can remove it. Her arms circle around his neck, and her fingers weave into his hair as their mouths find one another again.   
Bellamy can’t help but notice how soft Clarke’s skin feels against his own, which had been made rough from continuous battle and manual labour. Her bra came off easy, and he soon found his mouth moving from her lips down to grasp her nipple between his teeth. Clarke let out a strangled moan, which just egged him on further, the tension growing in his pants as his erection pressed against his jeans. Pausing, he undid his belt buckle and swiftly removed his pants and underwear. Bellamy wrapped his arm around Clarke’s waist, using enough momentum to flip her onto her back. Not wasting any time, Clarke slid out of her own pants, discarding them into a pile with his own.   
“I can’t believe I’m hooking up with Bellamy Blake,” Clarke said, more to herself than anything. This elicited a chuckle from Bellamy before he began to trail his fingers down the length of her stomach. “It’s been so long since I’ve, well, felt another person’s touch.”  
Clarke blushed deep pink, and Bellamy felt his heart swell. It suddenly didn't matter anymore that she’d left. It was what she had needed. And now, this, her beneath the length of his body, her fingers digging into his back, was what he needed. She was here, with him, and nothing else mattered.   
When Clarke spread open her legs, and Bellamy pushed into her it was like coming home. She let out a soft moan in his ear, which made him buck up into her with even more force until they found a rhythm that matched. Their breathing became ragged and Bellamy resisted the urge to wipe a layer of sweat from his forehead, bending down to kiss the pulse point on Clarke’s neck instead. In return, she raked her fingers down the length of his chest, over his nipples and down his sides, causing him to shiver.  
“Fuck,” he said, biting down on her neck. Feeling himself close to finishing, he brought his hand down and used his thumb to stroke Clarke’s clit. Her head fell back onto his cot, and she closed her eyes in ecstasy as they both came together.  
“I—fuck,” Clarke mumbled with little coherence. Bellamy rumbled a laugh, not moving for a beat as they came down from their high. He finally pulled out of her, and he heard her whimper at his absence.   
Neither of them moved or spoke, the only noise filling the room was that of their harsh breathing. Eventually, after having cooled down, Bellamy threw an arm around Clarke, pulling her into the curve of his body and pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. Together they tugged his wool blanket up over them, as their sweat dried and left them exposed to the cooler air.  
“I should go,” Clarke whispered after a while. Bellamy felt himself tense at this.  
“What are you talking about?” His grip tightened defensively around her waist, and she placed her hand over his in comfort.   
“What are people going to think if they walk in and see us like this?”  
“Fuck them.”  
“Bellamy, seriously,” Clarke said. Wiggling free of his grip just slightly, she rolled over so that they were face to face. Her hand came up to meet his cheek. “Nobody else knows I’m back.”  
“Let them find out,” Bellamy said. He was sure she could see it in his eyes; him pleading, begging for her not to leave him again. “Please, Clarke, just stay. Stay.”  
He watched the indecision flash across her face as she bit her lower lip and her eyes struggled to meet his own.   
“They all still hate me, Bellamy,” Clarke said.   
“They don’t,” He said. “They all miss you, especially your mom, Clarke. She’s had it the hardest since you’ve left. And O and Jasper? Sure, they might still be a little bitter, but they don’t hate you, Clarke. I promise. Please, just trust me.”  
Clarke didn’t move, didn’t speak.  
“You asked me for my forgiveness, and I gave it to you. Now, would you please just accept it, finally?” He pleaded, once more.   
After what seemed like forever, Clarke finally nodded, ever so slightly. He felt, rather than saw her chin shifting on his chest, as night had fallen, making it impossible to see two feet in front of you. With her acceptance, though, it felt like all the weight he had been carrying for the past however many months were finally being lifted. This is what relief feels like, he thought.   
“Our friends are sure going to be in for a shock when the sun reveals an extra body in the cabin tomorrow morning,” Bellamy said.   
Clarke laughed and snuggled deeper into his embrace, and Bellamy willed himself not to believe that she would be gone in the morning. 

fin


End file.
